


to see the side of me that no one does or ever will

by notthebigspoon



Series: Stick 'Em Up [8]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan doesn't want to be here.</p><p>	He never thought he'd say that about baseball.</p><p>	He's sitting between his mom and his girlfriend, not that his mom knows Jalynne is his girlfriend, and he knows he should be happy about it. Happy to be sitting between his two favorite women in the world. But he's not. He's miserable.</p><p>Title taken from I'd Come For You by Nickelback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to see the side of me that no one does or ever will

**Author's Note:**

> [ like wounded soldiers in need of healing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/490870)
> 
> from Ryan's point of view.

Ryan doesn't want to be here.

He never thought he'd say that about baseball.

He's sitting between his mom and his girlfriend, not that his mom knows Jalynne is his girlfriend, and he knows he should be happy about it. Happy to be sitting between his two favorite women in the world. But he's not. He's miserable.

His ribs hurt. He's trying to keep pressure on them, because that makes it hurt a little less. He wishes they were wrapped but the doctors told him that he had to be able to take deep breaths. He took a painkiller when they left the apartment but he's on the downswing from it and he won't be safe to take another one for another half an hour. He grits his teeth and he watches his teammates, his friends, and tries not to move too much.

What hurts the most though, is the things he can't remember. It's never anything big until now, just spotty things like a phone number or identifying a voice. He can see someone and know who they are but not remember their name. It hasn't been that long, they said it could take weeks or months for things to clear up. And that was just a guess. The human brain is a mystery, they said, there's no hard and fast rules. Everyone is different. It was bullshit and he'd screamed that, punching the bed and not calming down until the doctor had left and Bochy and Jalynne both had talked him down.

He's struggling, today. Names. Namesnamesnames. He's relieved to find himself able to name all his teammates, even if it takes a minute. Keeping up with the plays is harder. What's that? What is he doing? Bunt. Buntbuntbunt. He clenches his eyes shut and shakes his head. This shouldn't be this hard. This is what he does for a living, this is his _life_ , is everything he's ever dreamed of and he can't tell you what's going on.

There's a soft touch to his cheek, snaps his head up. He didn't know he'd zoned out so badly. He looks to the side, meets his mom's eyes and takes in the concerned look on her face and his dad's as well before dropping his head and shaking it. His mom touches his shoulder, starts to say his name but he shakes his head again. He doesn't want to talk about it.

Jalynne touches his knee before fishing in her purse. She doles out two pills. He looks at the pills and then looks at her, hesitates. He doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to rely on medication for his day to day. She nudges him again, gives him that look that she's given him so often. The one that says _accepting help doesn't mean you're weak_ and _I love you_ and _you're being a dumbass_ all in one. He has a love hate relationship with that look.

He gives in. He takes them and takes a deep breath, tossing them in his mouth and swallowing them down with a stolen gulp of Jalynne's lemonade. He hands it back to her when she swats his hand and then settles into his seat. He doesn't pay much attention to his parents or Jalynne after that. He lays all his focus on the game, feels the pain ebbing away and his calm returning as the pills take effect.

They gave him the good stuff and he's more than a little high, which is why he decides Brandon nodding at him is reason enough to trudge down the steps to the field. He climbs over the wall to let himself down but Brandon meets him there, wrapping an arm around his waist and gently setting him on his feet like he's a girl.

Ryan momentarily considers punching him in the ribs, except Brandon just looks so _pleased_ with him that he settles for a sigh and a one armed hug. He's wheezing from the exertion against his ribs but he waves off Brandon's puppy eyes and attempts to assist him, forcing himself to stand up straight. Brandon backs off and says nothing, just slows down and shortens his stride so Ryan can keep up without wanting to rip his own lungs out.

He's received with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The fans cheer for him but he keeps his head down, fluttering a hand ineffectually and heading straight into the dugout, making a beeline for the clubhouse. He's hugged, loosely and gets a thump on the back that make him cough and wince. He settles into a corner and hides behind Belt. The kid is confused for all of five seconds before patting Ryan on the head. He'll pay for that later. For now, Ryan likes having a bodyguard.

Brandon stays busy long enough to make Ryan regret staying. The reporters slowly back off of him when it's clear he's not going to say anything worth printing. Brandon smiles blandly and gives generic, canned statements about being glad to be back and be able to contribute. Ryan slips past him to retreat into the depths of the park, leaning against a wall and just breathing, hand pressed against his ribs again.

“Y'okay son?”

He looks up at Bochy and nods before shaking his head. “Ribs.”

“Take your medicine?”

“I did, but Jalynne-” Ryan starts, but he's interrupted by another coughing fit and he suffers through the indignity of burying his face in his manager's arm while he scrambles to catch his breath. “Sorry. But yeah, Crawford's wife has it.”

“Here... no, c'mon Theriot, sit down until Crawford can drive you home.” Bochy answers. He doesn't feel like arguing, not even a little bit, just settles onto a chair. “Why does Crawford's wife have your pills?”

This is embarrassing and he doesn't want to talk about it. He stares at his feet until he's tapped on the head, twice. “I can't remember when it's okay to take them.”

“Still trouble with the memory.” It's not a question.

“Yeah. And, christ, it's the stupidest shit. Names, voices, plays and stats. Stuff that I should know and just don't.”

“I'm going to piss you off and tell you that it's going to take time.” Bochy answers, but he's smiling as he pulls up his own chair and sits down. “I know you don't want to hear that but it's true. A concussion is brain damage and you had a severe one. Be thankful that the problems so far are minor.”

“Tell you what, skip, why don't you fucking try to call your kids and forget their number? Or see someone you love and forget their name? In fact, why don't you fucking-” Ryan starts, voice rising with each word before the wind simply falls out of his sails. His shoulders sag and he buries his face in his hands. “Sorry... sorry, Boch, sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“Pushing yourself too damned hard, that's what's wrong with you. Go find Crawford and get him to take you home.”

“Yessir.”

In spite of the temper tantrum he almost just threw, Bochy doesn't appear too upset with him. He pats Ryan on the back and gives him a nudge forward. Ryan makes it back to the clubhouse. He makes it back inside just as Brandon is starting to leave, bumping into him and smiling. He shakes his head when Brandon asks where he's been. He's not in any hurry to advertise a breakdown in front of the skip, not even to his boyfriend.

He stays close as they're leaving, he feels a little dizzy and a little sick but that's been the norm lately, especially if he pushes himself too hard. He mumbles goodbyes to the few teammates still loitering around and he can't say that he's not grateful to get into the truck. He slumps low in his seat, eyes drooping shut and just breathes.

Brandon starts the truck but he doesn't go anywhere, leaves it in park and turns the music down low. Ryan's not sure how long they sit like that before a large hand is taking his, thick fingers intertwining with his own. He jumps, staring down at their hands. They hug, they kiss and they sleep together but somehow, this one simple sign of affection is something they've never done. Brandon starts to pull his hand back but Ryan squeezes it, looking up at him with a smile before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, another thing they've almost never done. They hold hands the entire drive home.

Ryan might be forgetting a lot lately but he knows he's never going to forget this.


End file.
